


Pretty Boy

by asterismos



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Boys Kissing, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, High School, High School Rivalry, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Rivalry, Sloppy Makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4826426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterismos/pseuds/asterismos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What are you doing here all alone, pretty boy?" a voice drawls, drawing him from his thoughts.</p>
<p>Harry slowly turns to face the source: a boy several inches shorter than him with mischievous cerulean eyes and a soft, chocolate fringe poking out from underneath a grey beanie. Black skinny jeans hug his nicely-shaped legs and a white t-shirt adorns his shoulders. Harry can spot the beginnings of a scruffy beard, alerting Harry that the guy is either a senior or already in college.</p>
<p>Automatically, he knows he wants him. Badly. But he hardly knows the guy and, naturally, his drunken state of mind leads his thoughts elsewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I received this prompt on Tumblr from dealwithlarry [tumblr]: "Will u write a larry one shot where they are both captains of the lacrosse(or any sport) teams at rival high schools and they accidentally sleep together at a party one night".
> 
>  
> 
> Sooooo I hope you enjoy. x

Harry has never really liked parties. The thought of being stuck in a stuffy building full of sweaty, hormonal, drunk teenagers has always been completely unappealing to him. But tonight, he's in a good mood. A _really_ good mood. Tonight, he led his football team to victory, ultimately devouring the Crestview High Trojans, so he imagines celebrating tonight with a small party isn't a bad thing. In fact, since he hasn't had a party in a while, he feels it's almost necessary. He _is_ a teenager, after all.

Contrary to their usual parties, tonight's is held at their goalie's place. Niall's house isn't very big but it was enough to accommodate everyone. Plus, the guy's Irish, which means he has  _lots_ of alcohol. And when it comes to post-victory after parties, alcohol is an absolute _must_. It doesn't take long for the house to reek of beer and for the air to become almost unbreathable (for an asthmatic kid like Harry, anyway). He spends most of his time outside, in Niall's backyard with some people he doesn't really know (but who obviously know him). The chilled can of beer in his hand eventually grows warmer as it's left virtually untouched, save for a few sips here and there. Harry isn't a huge fan of beer.

"Congrats, captain," someone shouts in his ear, clapping him on the back. Harry turns to face the person and squints. He doesn't recognize them.

"Thank you," he replies politely. (His mother raised him to always mind his manners, alright?)

"Yep," the person says before nodding once and wandering off. Harry smiles a little to himself. He always tries to be humble and never think too highly of himself, but he's feeling _so_ good tonight. Crestview is South Point's biggest rival; the two schools have been each other's throats since the dawning of time. Most of the kids in each school are very much involved in the rivalry, which makes for some pretty interesting news stories after a victory and defeat. Harry can already picture the headline on Sunday's paper: EAGLES CAPTAIN LEADS TEAM TO VICTORY. Harry smiles at the thought but his joy disperses as he's approached by Niall.

"What's up?" Harry asks before taking a casual swig of his beer. Niall isn't smiling, which is extremely unusual for him. Usually, by this time, he's so shitfaced that his words are incoherent and his smile seems eternally plastered on his face. But Niall isn't smiling, which means he has bad news. 

"We've got party crashers," he murmurs to him, his eyes darting from Harry to the house. "From Crestview."

Harry frowns. "Where are they?" He begins to make his way to the house. "Are they still at the front?"

"No, mate." Niall catches his arm by the elbow and pulls him back. "They disappeared into the crowd. Just leave 'em." Harry sighs. The enemy team just _had_ to kill his mood, didn't they? Niall claps him on the shoulder. "I know, mate, I know. I feel ya."

Fortunately, the party seems to continue as normal, which Harry's surprised by. Given the Trojans' defeat, he's expecting lots of trouble—maybe even a fist fight. It wouldn't be the first time. Honestly, nothing would surprise Harry at that point. Instead, all he gets is a normal party. But he isn't complaining. He decides to sit back and enjoy the peace while it lasts—something's bound to go wrong.

Harry leans against the doorframe, now inside the house, leisurely sipping from the red cup in his hand. He watches Niall and some other guy play beer pong, each with partners whose faces Harry doesn't recognize. He thinks they might be his teammates but the alcohol is coursing through his system—he can't see quite as straight anymore. Despite the impairment of his senses, he feels invincible.

"What are you doing here all alone, pretty boy?" a voice drawls, drawing him from his thoughts. Harry slowly turns to face the source: a boy several inches shorter than him with mischievous cerulean eyes and a soft, chocolate fringe poking out from underneath a grey beanie. Black skinny jeans hug his nicely-shaped legs and a white t-shirt adorns his shoulders. Harry can spot the beginnings of a scruffy beard, alerting Harry that the guy is either a senior or already in college. Automatically, he knows he wants him. Badly. But he hardly knows the guy and, naturally, his drunken state of mind leads his thoughts elsewhere.

_I wish I could grow a beard_ , Harry thinks because his genetics adamantly refuse to give him facial hair. And it isn't fair, especially when you have a name like _Harry_.

Apparently, Harry says this out loud because the guy gives him a sideways smile.

"Now, why would you want that?" he asks, reaching up to gently cup Harry's face. "Your skin's so soft. Get a beard and you'll ruin your pretty face." Without thinking, Harry leans into the touch. The boy, much to his displeasure, withdraws his hand, letting it fall to take Harry's hand instead. Harry doesn't realize how close their bodies are until that instant, with the short boy pressed against him almost entirely. "Come on, pretty boy," the boy murmured in his ear. "Let's go somewhere nice."

The guy pulls back with a smirk and begins to tug Harry away from the doorway. He doesn't hesitate in following the shorter boy through the house and eventually up the stairs. He's surprised to find it mostly empty and even more surprised when the boy pushes him against the nearest wall, their bodies flush against the other's. Harry must have set his cup down somewhere along the way upstairs because it's no longer in his hands, which, now empty, find the other guy's waist. He automatically tilts his head to give the other boy more access when he begins to kiss Harry's neck.

"You're so responsive," he murmurs against Harry's skin. He can feel the other boy's warm breath raising goosebumps in its wake and the barely-there graze of his lips as he speaks. His breath comes to him more rapidly; his senses are in overdrive. Every touch from this mystery guy feels like fire and Harry loves it. Never before has he been so affected by simple touches, but he certainly isn't going to stop him. 

"I don't even know your name," Harry says instead of properly replying. "I might not even remember it."

The other guy rolls his eyes. "Don't worry about it, pretty boy." 

Harry begins to protest, but the mystery guy cuts him off with his lips. He kisses back too eagerly than he'd like to admit. The other boy's lips are much, much softer than he expects but his scruff scratches his skin where it grazes it. Harry doesn't know when Mystery Guy's hands found their way under his shirt but all he knows now is that he needs it  _off_. Mystery Guy seems to be thinking the same thing. He pulls away just long enough to help Harry tug his shirt off. As their lips meet again, he pushes the nearest bedroom door open and pushes Harry through it. 

"You look familiar," Harry comments quietly when Mystery Guy parts to take off his own shirt, disposing of them both elsewhere in the room. The guy smirks at him.

"I get that a lot." Then he latches himself to Harry's neck, his hands allowing themselves to roam over his bare chest and stomach. "So good, aren't you, pretty boy?" he murmurs, pulling away slightly. Harry takes the opportunity to let his own hands explore, pleased to find that his hands can cup Mystery Guy's ass perfectly. "So eager, too." 

Harry moans as the other guy palms his hard on through the front of his jeans. 

"Look at you, already hard for me."

"Please," Harry says insistently.

"Please what?"

"Please touch me."

The other guy smiles, staring at Harry in awe. "God, you're so submissive, aren't you? I'll bet you're into all kinds of kinky shit too." He slowly, seductively, licks his lips. "What do you want me to do, babe? You want me to ride you, don't you, pretty boy?"

Harry can't even answer. His mouth won't move; his voice won't work. So he nods, trying to move his hips but Mystery Guy's got him locked in place, his smirk devilish. Harry whines, his voice an octave higher than usual, because he just needs this so, so bad. And he can tell this guy does too. Before he knows what's happening, they're on the bed and his jeans are gone..

"You can call me Louis," the guy says, pulling away from Harry just for a moment. The name is familiar but Harry isn't given the opportunity to dwell on it. He gasps at every touch, every feeling, every kiss. Louis doesn't hold back at all and never hesitates in sending a smirk his way. Harry knows when he wakes up tomorrow, he'll be left with pleasant surprises on his skin, reminders of the night before. Louis' name leaves his lips too many times to count throughout the night, and they're both overwhelmed with more pleasure than they'd ever experienced. After, as they both slowly fall asleep, Harry wonders whether the alcohol or the boy in his arms is more intoxicating.

 

The next morning, warmth on his skin draws Harry out of his sleep. Much to his disappointment, it's just the blazing afternoon sun glaring at him from the nearby window. He turns to his right and frowns at the empty spot beside him on the bed. He slowly lifts the bedsheet off his body and yeah, he's naked. He groans for a second because that was  _not_ supposed to happen and then rolls onto his stomach, startled to hear the unmistakeable sound of paper crinkling. He sits up and scans the surface of the bed. A crumpled up note rests dead-center on the empty side of the bed.

> Morning, Harry. You've just now slept with Crestview's
> 
> right center forward (and team captain). Good game,
> 
> by the way. Couldn't take my eyes off you for a second.
> 
> Come find me, pretty boy.
> 
> x Louis

Harry stares at the note for a moment, absolutely silent. Then he laughs. He neatly folds the note and sets it back down beside him. He makes a mental note to ask around about Louis. Louis Tomlinson, if his memory was correct. Because this guy is not getting away from him that easily. He _did_ tell him to find him, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo this wasn't very explicit. Sorry aha and this turned out to be more of a drabble than anything. And I'm not sure how I feel about how this turned out. Still not 100% satisfied with the ending... But I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Thanks for reading!! xx


End file.
